A Renaissance
by Nausicaa Smith
Summary: Vegeta's first days on Earth following the battle at Planet Namek. Incomplete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Fair warning, O Reader, before you get invested in this fic--I've had the first two chapters written for over four years, and haven't written anything further. I've got a serious blockage here, and I don't know where this story may lead itself or if it even will. ;_; I'm going to try hard to just sit down and write it, but be aware that another update may be a while in coming. Sorry guys.

* * *

Hours before the Dragon Balls had wished him back into his miserable existence because of that stupid clown Kakarott and his stupid clown friends. Vegeta found himself transported to the very place he'd been defeated months before. The sky was bright and blue, the birds chirped. Green grass and white clouds, looking like some delicate painting against the horizon. He couldn't believe it—this planet would have fetched a high price had they succeeded in conquering it. Kakarott's friends planned to wish him back when the Dragon Balls became active again and in the meantime everyone—to his shock, himself included—was invited to stay at the vulgar blue-haired woman's home. In her working boots and leather vest she'd looked like some space pirate, dirty, uncomfortable, but determined to accomplish the task at hand. He'd seen her a couple of times on Namek. He'd scarcely believed that she could be someone important on the planet, or that she had the resources to house several dozen Nameks and himself for months on end.

A tall, bespectacled and somewhat older earthman had arrived in a huge helicopter to pick them up a few minutes later. He'd introduced himself to them as Dr. Briefs, head of Capsule Corporation. Whatever that was. His thoughts wandered, but in an effort to stave off the after-effects of the emotional turmoil of the past few weeks, Vegeta concentrated on his surroundings. He'd been expecting them to land at a small, sterile building somewhere with a few extra beds, but his eyes widened as they approached—West City, was it? And he'd nearly choked out loud when he'd stepped off the chopper and caught sight of what the blue-haired woman had called the "compound." Numerous dome-shaped buildings, hundreds of square feet and some dozens of stories high. A landing strip and helicopter pad, surrounded by forest and gardens. Vegeta really hadn't realized that Earth was this advanced. Sure, they had electricity and running water, but the smooth clean lines of the buildings, the white and stainless steel together suggested technology, power. Because as most civilizations came to realize, simpler was better. Simple design, clean, smooth, less complicated infrastructure worked better than more complicated but aesthetically pleasing shapes. The domes were a sign: rain and snow would not gather there, and they were energy efficient, easy to clean and repair. He hadn't seen these in the city they'd flown over, only here.

Before he really had a chance to collect himself they were all being guided into one of the domes to their far left. A large, circular lounge, with numerous staircases leading up in a circular fashion. Orange and white, again in the smooth, clean lines. The plate glass windows were unadorned and room was plain and sparsely decorated, but the colors gave off a weirdly comforting atmosphere. For whatever reason, Vegeta felt that what he needed most after this ordeal was comfort. Not a regeneration tank, not more training to relieve stress. He needed a hot shower and clean clothes and a long, hard sleep. Apparently that's what the Earthlings and the Nameks thought too. The blue-haired woman announced that it was only very early morning still, and that everyone should shower and dress and have a nap. She said that there were clean jumpsuits in every room and lunch would be delivered to their rooms if they wanted it. After giving each person a numbered key to their own private room upstairs and instructing them to press the call button by the door if they needed help with any of the building's features she stepped out the back door onto a patio, pulled out a cigarette and a phone and proceeded to call Kakarott's wife to come and get her offspring.

Vegeta loitered in the lounge until all the Nameks had gone. Really, the prince didn't trust his bearings just yet, so he sat in a corner in the floor next to a potted plant and wearily fingered the key he'd been given. Wondered why they were treating him—_him_—this way, like a guest. Like he'd never come here to destroy the planet. Like he'd never killed their friends and beaten the ever-living crap out of their finest warrior. In less than an hour the blue-haired woman had returned with Kakarott's whelp in tow. Both had washed and changed. The woman was wearing a colorful garb, more feminine than he'd expected. The boy, his hair scrubbed clean and still wet, hopped excitedly around the room in overalls and a striped shirt. His little sneakers squeaked on the hard orange floor and he hyperventilated as he jabbered on about Nameks and Dragon Balls and Daddy. Vegeta almost laughed bitterly; he'd forgotten that Kakarott's boy was just that—a little boy. Judging by the look on the woman's face she'd forgotten as well, and she suddenly asked him how old he was now. He responded between breaths, almost six, and continued in his tirade about Mr. Piccolo and Mr. Nail.

***

When Son Chichi arrived Gohan shut his mouth. Bulma had actually been watching him with amusement, thinking that he was so like his father. So excitable and passionate. And hyper. But when his mother walked into the room he rushed forward to hug her and then stood back quietly and waited for further instructions. Ironic, really. Little Gohan could halfway whip Vegeta's ass and yet he was terrified of the dark-haired, diminutive woman who'd borne him into this world. Chichi hugged and thanked Bulma tearfully, promised to bring Gohan back to visit within the week, and they were gone. Bulma really had lost sight of the fact that Gohan was just a baby. Really, really. This whole experience must have been very emotionally taxing for him and to have lost his father for the second time in as many years… but all that would be righted soon, with the Dragon Balls. Thank Kami for the Nameks and for Son's (rare) quick thinking.

After they were gone, she turned and contemplated the fourth Saiyan she'd met in her lifetime. In order, Son Goku, Son Gohan, Raditz, and lastly the silent man sitting in the floor by the palmetto tree.

Vegeta.

She really didn't know what to do with him. Obviously Son had worked his magic on the older man, but to what extent? Son had turned Tenshinhan and Chaotzu into decent folk too, but really, how sociable were they even to this day? Vegeta was sitting there in the floor, looking rather dejected and alone. Bulma was uneasy about him, but still her heart went out to him. If he'd worked for that bastard Frieza for so long like Gohan had said then it was no wonder he was the way he was. She knew he'd observed her exchange with Chichi and Gohan with silent interest. Maybe he wanted to leave. Where would he go, she wondered. If he'd worked for Frieza he was probably wanted on half the planets in the galaxy. They all knew he'd been on Namek when it exploded; probably it was safer for him if the whole galaxy thought he was dead. She figured that's what was going on in his head. Oh well, time to interrupt his train of thought. He'd have to have a shower and some clean clothes, and probably some lunch pretty soon. Even if he left soon, she didn't want him to feel unwelcome.

Strange. This was a man who had killed her lover, her close friends and had destroyed several cities in the process. He'd killed a whole village full of Nameks without a second thought and he'd threatened her with death. He'd purged planets with his minions Raditz and Nappa. But she didn't resent him. He made her a little nervous, yes. She realized, though, that if the way Gohan told it was correct he'd done all of those terrifying things in an attempt to gain immortality not merely for the sake of living forever itself but in order to _defeat Frieza_. Whatever everyone else thought, that made it different. That changed things. Because for all of her blustery obnoxiousness, her egotistical façade and petty squabbling, Bulma Briefs really had a knack for seeing the good in people, no matter how little it was, no matter how deeply it was buried. She'd seen it in Son Goku immediately—the goodness in him had shown like a beacon in the night. His perfect, untarnished soul reflected itself clearly to her in his eyes, in his innocent, naïve grin and his curious little voice. She could picture him in her head, standing before her with his mussed hair and dirty training gear, holding up his grandfather's Dragon Ball and examining it as carefully as if for the first time. "Hey, Grandpa's ball has four stars in it!" he'd said. Half her size, his black eyes sparkled in the late spring sunshine and his voice shook with excitement: "Hi stars!" Bulma was sure he felt no greed or selfishness. He came with her on her journey with no thought of reward. No one else could ever be like him, not in a million lifetimes; he was the best man she had ever known.

_And he's coming back._ Bulma snapped back to reality abruptly. Vegeta, on the other hand she decided, was an evil ass bastard. But she could see clearly the motives beyond his actions, and in her book it was the motives that were important. Gathering up her courage, she approached him. He didn't look up. Was he shy or something?

"Hi." She began. God, it sounded dumb. He didn't move. "You know," she continued softly, "You could sit in a chair if you just don't want to go up to your room. I'm sure it would be more comfortable than the floor." Still no response. "If I understand Gohan correctly, you've only had a couple hours sleep over the last few weeks. You must be tired, so why don't you go on up and get some rest?"

"Why?" The first word he'd spoken to her. His voice was rough.

"What else are you going to do?" Bulma abandoned caution and plopped down on the floor, cross-legged in front of him. Her blue jeans, with her orange halter top and sandals were by no means the most diplomatic way she could have presented herself to her visitors from another world, but they had been the first things she'd come across. She'd showered in a rush—with a sly grin she remembered that she'd forgotten underwear. Oops.

Vegeta made an indistinct noise in his throat. Bulma was sure that he would stay until Goku was wished back. He had a score to settle, after all.

"How about if I help you find your room? I'm Bulma, by the way. Bulma Briefs. You're Vegeta. Right?"

Another indistinct noise.

"Let me see your key and I'll take you up to your room." She reached and pulled the key from his slackened grip. His white gloves were filthy, but for some reason she didn't dare suggest he take them off. Room 89. She was hesitant to actually touch him, so she settled for a "come on, let's go!" and a cheerful demeanor as she led the way up the spiral staircase left of the plate glass windows. She could hear his meek footsteps behind her all the way. When she turned to check on him, though, he was far behind her and staring down at the ground. She'd seen Son do that a couple times after tough battles and wondered how two people from such completely different cultures could come up with the same behavior. Come to think, Krillin had come out of the battle with Vegeta and Nappa staring at the ground as well. Had Gohan? No, he'd been unconscious. Chichi had carried him to the plane. She studied Vegeta carefully. His eyes focused on the stairs in front of him, head down, and a death grip on the railing. What the hell? But slowly the pieces clicked into place and Bulma almost gasped out loud with the realization: he thought he was going to fall! Honest to Kami, that had to be it. After days of battle, no food or sleep, he was probably exhausted and at least a little off-balance. So she stopped and waited for him, resisting the urge to reach out and offer support. If he did fall and she was holding onto him she'd be on the floor just as quickly. So she let him handle himself, carefully, up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Fair warning, O Reader, before you get invested in this fic--I've had the first two chapters written for over four years, and haven't written anything further. I've got a serious blockage here, and I don't know where this story may lead itself or if it even will. ;_; I'm going to try hard to just sit down and write it, but be aware that another update may be a while in coming. Sorry guys.

* * *

When Vegeta woke up it was pitch dark. He was somewhere soft and warm and quiet. Strange. For a long time he just lay there, unwilling to move, unwilling to open his eyes even. Afraid that if he even twitched his surroundings would dissolve into the cold, harsh metallic environment in which he had grown up. His muscles ached from inactivity, but he pushed the pain away and momentarily he drifted back into a light slumber, into a dim dream of his childhood—at the palace his father had allowed no women. Not, as was usually suspected, because he was a misogynist but because on planet Vegeta men outnumbered women by nearly ten to one. They weren't seen as weak exactly, but as an asset that needed to be protected. In the event of an attack by outside invaders the palace was the first place likely to be hit, and his father knew that should his queen or their daughters perish in such a skirmish the empire would be divided because of the perceived lack of security. Why, then, had the infant prince been allowed there? He must be trained, of course! He must be accustomed to the activity and politics of the palace! But his mother and his… his sisters… he'd had two older sisters, hadn't he? They hadn't been allowed near the palace while Freiza was in power. And so had been instigated the young prince's lifelong aversion to women. Not that he was afraid of them—rubbish! He simply didn't know how to deal with them, and so avoided them wherever possible. And, up to this point, that hadn't been an issue. Frieza had never allowed women in his armies. Vegeta's mind wandered sleepily. What had got him thinking of stupid women, anyway? Oh! His host on this planet was female, wasn't she?

And then Vegeta was fully awake, sitting bolt upright and staring around the darkened room in alarm. He was on Earth. Earth. Hadn't he died? He thought he had. The past weeks couldn't have been a dream, but they were so blurry. His hands went to his face, to his chest, to each other; searching for damage, seeking out something that would hurt so he could feel something but he couldn't find a single bruise or scratch. What the hell had happened? In a state of mild panic, the Saiyan Prince shoved the ridiculously thick covering away and slipped off the peculiarly tall bed. He'd slept on a hard cot, in a cramped space pod, in regeneration tanks or on the ground for most of his life. This arrangement, while not unpleasant, was very alien to him. When his feet hit the floor, the lights went up. He looked around, his vision clear now; hackles raised, but unable to find the source of this soft ambient light. It illuminated orange walls and plush carpet. A low, white couch was lurking on one side of a doorway. Two matching chairs lived on the other side, with a small glass table between them. Altogether, it was a strange place. As he faced the other side he found a large window covered by heavy curtains. He went to them and peered out—darkness with pinpricks of yellow and white lights. No stars or moon: this was a city. He'd known he wasn't in space because of the gravity. Real gravity was solid and comforting, but artificial gravity such as on a spaceship or a station _shimmered_ at the edges, as if it were trying to lull you into a false sense of security and planned to let you go when you least expected it.

_Dissociative amnesia__: a type of amnesia in which a person is unable to recall information and/or events surrounding a severely traumatic time in their lives. Usually temporary. _The prince sighed in agitation. Shit. Well, at least for the moment he seemed to be somewhere safe, no matter what had happened, and at least he knew who he was—the Prince, dammit! The crown prince of a dead race! He wracked his brain and could only remember two things. Firstly that he was on Earth, the place where he had been utterly defeated by Kakarott and company. Secondly that the person in charge seemed to be a human woman with blue hair.

***

Bulma had set her beeper to go off when the lights in Vegeta's room woke up (meaning he'd either gotten up or fallen out of the bed). Not that she thought he particularly needed any help adjusting—surely no more than the Nameks would need, right? But should he have a run-in with their warrior priests she was sure there would be casualties, and the last thing that they needed was more death. She was in her father's lab when it went off so she excused herself and headed out to Dome 1B, the guest building. She had thought earlier of moving Vegeta into the family's guest quarters in order to isolate him further from the Nameks. They were a peaceful people and would not like seeing him, a vicious murderer in their eyes, in their lobby every morning and night. Gods, he'd slept a long time. It was long after midnight now. The Nameks had slept most of the day and come out for dinner, but Vegeta hadn't stirred to answer when she'd knocked on his door. But, she supposed, the Nameks had only lost a couple days of sleep. Vegeta had arrived the same day Bulma, Krillin and Gohan had, and had therefore been lurking in the shadows of Namek for a week before the war really started. He must have been exhausted. Gohan said he'd fallen asleep for a little bit while Goku was in the regeneration tanks, but besides that he'd been going nonstop.

Well, Bulma knew how that felt. As she climbed the staircase she expected to see him coming down, but he wasn't even out in the hallway when she got to his floor. She knocked on his door with some apprehension but was determined to keep a close watch on him. She heard a soft clicking, and the door slid up. It was her father's favorite kind of door ("It won't bump into anything and leave marks on the walls! It seals airtight, so no drafts, no bugs coming in, and no light from the crack under the door ever again! And best of all? You can't slam it shut!"). Vegeta was standing on the other side, staring at the little control pad with a puzzled expression.

"Hi!" Bulma was making a real effort to be as chipper as possible. He looked at her strangely. "May I come in?" He looked at her strangely some more, but nodded. Bulma stepped into the room and the door slid shut behind her. Vegeta stepped back from it warily. "Something wrong?" she inquired innocently. She wanted to get him talking. The poor guy seemed confused. He was still wearing his pajamas—she'd shown him the bathroom when she'd brought him up and supposed he'd showered and dressed before he'd finally crashed.

"I…" his voice was soft but rough. There had been more menace in his tones on planet Namek, and more of an accent. She figured the accent came out with increased agitation. Right now he was perfectly calm, if guarded, and the accent was so light it was hardly noticeable. "I was unaware that Earth was this far technologically advanced. We were led to believe it was nothing more than a mud ball with some forms of semi-intelligent life. Before Raditz came here, I mean." He didn't look at her as he spoke, but focused on a point over her right shoulder.

"There are large tracks of untouched land here, but the civilized world is reasonably well developed." Bulma matched his tones smoothly. Shocking though his manner of speech was—he was so eloquent for an alien!—she was well versed in diplomacy and fell into the role of spoiled rich heiress easily. "What you see here, however, is far more advanced than the rest of the planet. My father, Dr. Briefs, invented most of what you see around you. He's the richest and most politically powerful man on the planet right now and it's leading scientist. We have technology here that the rest of the world can only dream of."

"Hmm. We could have sold this planet for a considerable sum if Kakarott had succeeded in his purge."

"I suppose. We've got a lot of resources, big wide oceans, oil, great farmlands. But he got a nasty bump on the head, so too bad for you guys, huh?" She expected him to get angry, but he still just looked lost. It was cute though. "Look, why don't you come downstairs and we'll find some food. It's past midnight so dinner's over, but my mom always has some leftovers put up in the fridge."

"Food would be… good." He said, then looked down at his pajamas. Bulma stifled a laugh, then said, "There are some clothes that will probably fit you in the closet over there. You get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs and we'll go together to my family's quarters. K?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and left.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** After four years, I have finished a third chapter of this story. Merry Christmas, ya'll!

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Bunny Briefs would always maintain that she had raised a _near_ perfect daughter. She had passed on her grace, charm, tact, wit, and beauty to Bulma. Also her makeup tips, her hairdressing skills, and her manners, which Bulma employed while in the public eye on pain of losing her private research funding. Dr. Briefs, for his part, agreed that they had brought up their daughter _nearly_ perfectly. From her father Bulma had learned technical skills, research skills, and the art of public speaking. Where both parents agreed to have failed her, however, was in the culinary skills department.

Bulma was no cook. Her stews came out soupy, her cakes came out flapjack-like, and her rice was always a little too close to the crunchy side of al dente. Bunny attributed this to her only daughter's impatience, and Dr. Briefs to her quick mind. As fast as she came up with new ideas, he said, she forgot about whatever the task at hand was. Bunny always countered that this problem didn't seem to bother her on Dragonball quests or shopping trips, and they simply agreed to disagree rather than argue over it like the proverbial old married couple.

The young scientist could, however, manage a microwave. On the assumption that Vegeta would have an appetite on par with Son Goku's, Bulma pulled a whole veggie-noodle casserole out of the fridge (her mom _always_ had spare food ready to go in case of guests) and stuck in in the 'nuker. Then, on the further assumption that he (who had clearly not been raised by wolves like some other people she knew) would be far more civilized than Goku, she also got out an actual plate and silverware for him. He sat quietly at the table in the blue CC jumpsuit from his guest room, and after serving himself inquired whether she were going to have any.

"No," Bulma replied as she started a pot of coffee. "Most humans require 2,000 calories or less a day, and I've already had mine."

"Oh? How long is a day here?"

"It's twenty-four standard hours."

Vegeta looked somewhat taken aback at this. "No wonder humans are so scrawny!"

Bulma giggled. "Well, we don't gain muscle at the rate that Saiyans do, apparently, and our metabolism is much slower. If we ate as much as you we'd all be morbidly obese!"

Vegeta shrugged with a frown and continued chewing. As temperamental and, well, _dickish_, as he had seemed to her, he was being incredibly civil here. She could recall a time, even a few days ago on Namek, when she'd been terrified of him to the point of hyperventilating. But her experiences on Namek seemed to have mellowed her somewhat. _I mean, when you've stood on the surface of a planet that's unstable and on the verge of exploding, billions of light-years away from home and everything you know, what more can bother you? _Clearly this was a new part of herself that she was going to have to explore. Sitting at her mother's heavy kitchen table, doing paperwork across from a man who had pretty recently attempted to destroy the human race, did not thrill her. Vegeta was just another person, like everyone else.

"So," she began as he (just as expected) finished off the casserole. "I was talking to my dad earlier, and we were both wondering what you planned to do now that Frieza and his bunch have shuffled off this mortal coil. Got any plans?"

"Er." he put down the fork. "Well, I could keep destroying planets and killing entire races of peoples, but since I won't be getting paid anymore that would be a waste of my time."

"True, true." Bulma thought that sounded pretty reasonable.

"And I suppose I'm stuck here unless you and your people could somehow build a spaceship for me to leave in."

"Well, we could. It would probably take a few months though, as the one we went to Namek in was based on alien technologies that my dad and I didn't fully understand. We'll have to reconstruct all the engineering from memory."

"Interesting."

Bulma stuck her pen behind her ear and got up to fix the coffee. "In the meantime, my dad wondered if you'd be interested in sticking around here for a while and helping him test out some new inventions of his, in exchange for free room and board here at the compound of course."

"I suppose I don't have anywhere else to be. What sort of inventions?"

"Well, there's the Gravity Device he's built, which increases the gravity in an armored room by a certain percentage. With Goku gone there's nobody around who can withstand such high gravitational forces for long enough to run diagnostics on it." Bulma sat a mug of hot coffee in front of him and he sniffed it suspiciously. "Also, if you know anything about alien spaceships and technologies, he's prepared to pay you to help him write schematics for a better kind of spaceship. That would give you money to spend in the city if there was anything you needed that we don't have. Which is unlikely, I guess."

"Actually I do have fairly good mechanical skills. You don't live in spaceships and fly those pods for your whole life without knowing a bit about them, after all."

"Excellent, then he'll be glad to work out the details with you tomorrow. He was headed to bed a little while ago, but he's usually up with the sun."

***

Coffee, Vegeta decided later, was one of the most disgusting things he'd ever put in his mouth. And he'd seen a lot of weird, backwater planets and eaten a _lot_ of strange things. Coffee was way up there on his list of Do Not Try Again. Right above karip fin stew from planet Ardur and edlunis, a spicy drink popular on many planets in the central regions of the galaxy.

Being awake and having been fed, and having realized he'd be stuck here for several months at least, he decided he may as well explore the place. The blue-haired woman (Bulma, he filed the name away for future reference) had said she was heading for bed, but that he was welcome to stay up and do whatever so long as he didn't destroy anything or kill anyone. He took this as permission to leave the compound, and flew out into the night. The wind on his face felt good. It was warm and balmy out, and although there was no moon, the stars sparkled down with enough light to highlight the terrain under him: vast oceans, rivers and lakes created a network of water that allowed for lush forests and jungles near the equator of this planet. Mighty snow-capped mountains reached toward the heavens, wide deserts and regions of tundra stretched further north and south toward the magnetic poles.

This place would indeed have sold for a fortune. But Frieza was gone. And good fucking riddance, mind. As much as Vegeta couldn't stand that damn clown Kakarott, a tiny, unacknowledged part of his heart was grateful and relieved beyond measure. The scant handful of Saiyans who had survived their planets destruction were avenged, and now safe from Frieza's cruel hand. He made his way back to the Capsule Corporation as the sun was just shining across the tops of the crisp white domes, and although a large part of him resented being here on Earth, if he were honest with himself he could think of far—_far_—worse planets to have been stranded on. That was one mantra that had kept the prince going even in the worst of times: _things could always be worse._


End file.
